Sunday, May 15, 2011

Now What Do I Do??

So much sniggering about what happens to men in their mid-forties does become tiresome, doesn't it, my pretties? They are, after all, going through the XY equivalent of the hormonal roller-coaster that we women face on the downward slope toward 50. They need the luscious seductive curves of young fertile women (or red convertibles, as the case may be) to give their flagging testosterone levels a momentary lift. And if testosterone is indeed the hormone of desire, then who can blame them for their search for some way, any way, to pump it up? Because as I can personally testify, during the harrowing downs of my current roller-coaster ride, life can seem flat and dull in a way that I've never before experienced.

I really have no other explanation for my experience the other day (see below), than that it triggered a palpable release of testosterone. It seemed like I could feel it pulsing through my bloodstream. Could testosterone be the ultimate high? I doubt it. But no one ever accused me a being a slacker in the intrepid category. So as of this month I'll be launching my newest campaign: to find a way, somehow, to have regular sex, here in the wilds of macho-landia. Because I can't be constantly running off to "sexless" Berlin for sex, now can I? That's just not in keeping with the nature of this blog... not to mention how bad it is for the environment.

So hmmm, what will it be? Regular sessions with the Ice Prince, he who is always hard and never talks back, do tend to lose their appeal after several months straight. I suppose I could do my best to eschew heterosexuality at this advanced age (back in school we called them political lesbians), but how would the real lesbians feel about that?? Bisexuality was the "in" thing in the Bay Area in the 00's; better late than never, I suppose. To maintain some penile presence, I could become the hot-bi-babe for some bored couple afflicted with the seven-year itch.

But I think the best would be to arrange something like my friend L. has -- a same-time-next-week sort of thing where she knows next to nothing about his life nor he about hers -- purely sex, no complications. Sounds sort of like heaven, doesn't it? I had a friend once who would always lament that she wished she could duct tape their mouths shut. But really, with my new-found sympathy for men, I no longer have any need for such overly generalized misandrous musings. And I cannot allow myself to give up; if *I* exist, then somewhere out there must be a handful of equally smart iconoclastic men who would be my match, right?

In the meantime I'll hold off on hitting the testosterone pills when the world becomes too gray and unappealing to bear. I shudder to think of the disconcerting side effects they could cause...

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My 'Ich Werde Ein Berliner' Test

You're Karl Lagerfeld

The computers determined that your ability to blend in wiz ze Germans is about the same as that of celebrity fashion designer Karl Lagerfeld. "Wait a minute" you say, "isn't he German? Woohoo! I did it, I am a proper German now!". Not so fast Auslander. Keep the champagne chilled for now. The truth is, you failed this personality test miserably by achieving the lowest possible score.
This is the detailed personality assessment for you and Karl:

• You were born in Hamburg, Germany, but moved to Paris when you were about 20, never looking back or getting homesick.

Now, as we learned before, it is a requirement for any German person to 1) love Hamburg unconditionally and 2) do blog and forum raids on the internet to try to shut up any Hamburg-critical voice. All German people are aspiring to move to Hamburg one day to live in what they believe to be "the most beautiful city in the world". Karl however has been overheard calling Hamburg boring, provincial, and is said to be not really keen on visiting the place unless someone pays him a lot of money.

• Even though you claim to be a creative person, nobody has ever seen you sporting messy hair, a scruffy beard, a fedora hat, plaids, Chucks, or oversized nerd glasses.

• You also never attended any indie punk rock concert of "upcoming" local bands, where you expressed your edginess by splashing around cheap beer in an ironic way and "going totally wild and crazy".

The bottom line of your test result is - you are still stuck on square one of the imaginary "Ich werde ein Berliner" board game. You'll have to work a lot harder from now on, or you may never blend in wiz ze Germans. Why not start by reading Ich werde ein Berliner all over again now? Preferably on an Apple-branded Laptop in a nearby "alternative" cafe.